


December 2nd: Ugly Christmas Sweater

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Series: December (Christmas) Challenge [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Bottoming from the Top, Christmas, Christmas Smut, Day Two, December Fanfic Challenge, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Husbands, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Panties, Parentlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Smut, Spanking, Top John, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 03:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16823827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: Sherlock and Rosie have an ongoing Christmas competition: who can buy John the ugliest Christmas sweater each year? Little does Sherlock know John’s taken it upon himself to buy his husband something equally heinously Christmas-y to wear.In short: John buys Sherlock Christmas themed panties and 10/10 would do it again.





	December 2nd: Ugly Christmas Sweater

**Author's Note:**

> Darlings, enjoy this silly day 2 of the December challenge. The prompt word for today: Ugly Christmas Sweater. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are treasured and appreciated. Enjoy!
> 
> *edit: per a lovely reader’s request, this fic has been added to the Ugly Christmas Apparel Challenge. :)

It had all started off innocently enough. 

Five year old Rosie had challenged Sherlock to an ugly sweater contest. Not an ugly sweater contest for them to wear the sweaters, but to see who could find the ugliest Christmas jumper that John would still wear. 

The first two years of this had gone exactly according to plan. Sherlock took Rosie shopping and they browsed around dozens of stores, trying to find the most over-the-top Christmas jumper they could (without things on it that John would refuse to wear, like glitter or pom-poms). They’d each pick one, but sign them from “Rosie and papa,” then whichever one John chose to wear for the Christmas party, was the winner that year. Rosie had won the first year and Sherlock had won the second. Sherlock was quite looking forward to this year to break the tie. He felt rather confident in his choice.

It’s Christmas Eve when things jump slightly off track from Sherlock’s plan for the sweater contest. Their annual Christmas party had wrapped up about half an hour ago and Rosie had gone up to bed after opening one present (new pajamas, a tradition from Sherlock’s family). Sherlock had collapsed into his arm chair and tilted his head back. He was tired, joyfully tired, and he was just imagining the sex he and John might have that night when the man in question cleared his throat.

Sherlock looks up with a smile as John handed him a drink. In his other hand he has a medium sized, wrapped box. He’s fiddling with it perhaps a touch nervously, but he’s grinning.

“Now, don’t think I don’t know what you and Rosie are up to with those ugly jumpers,” John says, surprising Sherlock.

Sherlock frowns at him, he didn’t think John had caught on to that, “I don’t know what you mean.”

John laughs, “I’m not stupid, Sherlock. I know that you and Rosie are competing to see who can find the most ugly Christmas sweater for me to wear to your parent’s house. This’ll be the third year.”

“What makes you think Rosie and I have bought jumpers for you again this year? Maybe we’ve changed the game.”

“Well, if that’s true, you won’t be needing this,” he tells him, waving the present in his hand.

Sherlock loves presents. He  _ loves _ them. 

And John knows it. 

“Fine,” Sherlock concedes. “What is it?”

“Well, I just hate to be the only one dressed up in something ridiculous,” John says with a smirk, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Absolutely not. I will not be wearing one of those hideous monstrosities of a jumper,” Sherlock replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I thought you’d say that,” John returns, “which is why I didn’t buy you a jumper,” Sherlock starts to speak, remembering the antler fiasco from years ago, but John stops him, “It’s nothing that anyone else will see or even know about, except for me.”

Sherlock’s interest is, admittedly, peaked. He narrows his eyes at the box, not large enough to be a jumper, it had been wrapped with care and then hidden at Mrs. Hudson’s so neither Rosie nor Sherlock would find it. The packaging was overly tidy and neat, suggesting that it is something John’s a bit nervous about, something that he wants the wrapping to make a good impression for. Sherlock cocks his head, wondering what it could be that John wants him to have but is afraid of Sherlock’s reaction.

“Would you like to open it, or just deduce it for a few more minutes?” John asks in exasperation.

“Well, I’ve already opened my present for the evening, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Sherlock says reasonably. The tips of John’s ears turn pink and Sherlock murmurs, “Interesting,” as he reaches for the box.

“You can’t open it tomorrow,” John says quickly. “You don’t want to open this one in front of Rosie.”

“Oh, John Watson-Holmes, have you been naughty?” Sherlock teases.

“Just open the damn thing,” John says. 

Sherlock’s heart beats a touch quicker as he flips the box over to slide his finger under the seam of the wrapping paper, intentionally taking his time opening the package as carefully as possible. Once he’s slid the wrapping paper off, he turns the plain white box over in his hands and pulls off the lid. He pushes aside the white tissue paper and pulls out a pair of panties.

And not just any panties, a red pair with lace trim, white snowflakes, and the word ‘naughty’ written across the skimpy fabric meant to cover his bottom. He looks up at John and the other man runs his tongue across his lower lip in a half nervous, half aroused gesture. “I’m not entirely sure how you think my huge arse is going to fit in these,” Sherlock tells him, matter-of-factly. 

John lets out a bark of laughter, “They’re supposed to be  _ ‘cheeky,’”  _ he tells him.

Sherlock lets the empty box fall to the floor as he stands from his chair. He looks down at himself as he holds the pants across his hips, before looking back up at John, “What do you think?” He murmurs, his voice gone low and seductive. “Would you like to see them on?”

John’s eyes shoot up to his, his pupils have blown wide and his heart rate is up. Then he does something that Sherlock dearly loves, he surprises him. 

“No.” He runs his tongue along his lower lips once again, “Not tonight. I want you to put them on tomorrow. Before we go to your parents house, when I put on one of those ugly jumpers, I want you to put on those panties, then you can take them off when I take off my jumper.”

Sherlock’s lips twitch into a smile, “Deal.”

John blinks at him, “Yeah?”

Sherlock steps forward and wraps his arms low around John’s waist, “Yes.” 

John surges forward and kisses Sherlock, his hands slide down Sherlock’s back to grope at his arse through his trousers and Sherlock groans against his lips. “Bedroom,” John growls. “Now.”

“Mmh,” Sherlock moans, his cock filling out fully in his trousers, “Yes, sir,” he groans but doesn’t move, he stays plastered to John’s front.

John smacks his bottom and Sherlock jumps, a breathy squeak escaping him, “On the bed, naked, you have one minute.”

Sherlock leans in and insolently pecks him on the lips before scampering off to the bedroom. The sex that night is fantastic, even better than he’d imagined when he was sitting in his chair, and when Sherlock falls asleep, he dreams about sex in tiny panties. 

————————————

They’re awoken the next morning by Rosie running in and jumping on their bed. “Santa’s come!” She shrieks, bouncing on Sherlock and knocking the wind out of him. “Daddy! Papa! Get up! Get up!”

“Yes, Rosie,” John says, sleepily before turning to Sherlock and slurring. “What time is it?”

“Hmmm, half five,” Sherlock replies. He stretches, then says to Rosie, “Come on, my little bee, let's get up. You can open your stocking while I make coffee for daddy and me.”

She screeches with joy and dashes out of the room. Sherlock’s about to climb out of bed when John grabs his hand and tugs him back in for a kiss, morning breath and all, and Sherlock doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of being kissed casually like this. He can’t imagine this will ever stop feeling like a bloody miracle. 

“Happy Christmas, my love.” John murmurs, his voice full of the same warmth and contentment Sherlock can feel radiating from his own core.

Sherlock smiles, soaking in this moment that feels like every good thing he’s ever known. “Happy Christmas.” He kisses him once more, just a quick smack, “Now out of bed. We’ve a very excited eight year old waiting for us.”

The morning runs smoothly, Rosie’s delighted by most of her presents (clothes excluded, save the pink miniature belstaff Sherlock’s had custom made for her, which John rolls his eyes good naturedly about). Rosie giggles when John opens his ugly jumpers and Sherlock playfully shushes her. 

Sherlock makes French toast and sausages for breakfast and the three of them laze about in pyjamas. Rosie plays with Christmas presents, John digs into the new novel Sherlock bought him, and Sherlock tinkers on his violin, content to watch the two people he loves most in this world happy. 

John glances at his watch around 10:30, “Alright, little miss,” he says to Rosie, “time to get ready to go to nana and pop-pops.” 

Rosie looks torn between the play dough in her hands and the prospect of seeing Sherlock’s parents. 

“They’ll have more presents for you, bee,” Sherlock says. 

Her eyes light up, “More presents?”

Sherlock nods. “But you have to get dressed first. Daddy packed your overnight bag last night, you just have to put on something nice for Christmas.”

“My Christmas dress?” she asks. 

“If you like,” Sherlock tells her with a smile. 

She considers for a moment, then John says, “You can pick one stuffed animal to come, too.”

It seems to tip her over the edge, she jumps up and scampers upstairs to her room. Sherlock stands and pulls John up out of his chair. “I’m stupidly in love with you, Dr. Watson-Holmes,” he tells him, the novelty of their shared last name making him grin like a loon. 

John smiles and pulls Sherlock into his body, “Well, I am stupidly in love with you, too, Mr. Watson-Holmes.”

“Which jumper have you chosen?” Sherlock asks curiously as they head into their room. 

John groans, “They’re both quite terrible, aren’t they?”

Sherlock laughs and John lays the two jumpers out on the bed. 

“I’m going to have to pick the button up one with the Christmas trees and dinosaurs, I think.”

“John,” Sherlock groans, “No!”

John laughs, “It’s Rosie’s isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Sherlock says with a sigh. “I was so sure you’d choose mine, especially in light of the gift you gave me last night.”

“Hmm,” John hums low in his throat as he turns to Sherlock, “Why’s that?”

“Because the jumper I bought you has snowflakes, not dissimilar to the panties you bought me, and stockings which I can also associate with those panties. We’d be matching.”

John laughs, “Maybe I’ll wear it just for you tonight,” he teases, folding it and packing it in his overnight bag. “Go get showered and dressed,” John says. “And don’t forget...” he trails off meaningfully, glancing down at Sherlock’s crotch pointedly. 

“Have I told you lately that I love you? And your dirty mind?” Sherlock says with a laugh. 

“Some things don’t need to be said,” John replies with a wink. “Now, go on. We haven’t got long before we need to be going.”

————————————

Sherlock had thought wearing the panties would be easy. He’d imagined that once he put them on, he’d sort of forget about them, the way he normally did with pants. 

This is definitely not the case. 

Wearing these panties makes it impossible not to think about sex. John is ignoring him and acting completely normal, but Sherlock wonders if his parents are getting suspicious of the way he’s constantly shifting, the way he’s a touch too warm, or how dilated his pupils must be. 

They make it through presents, his parents positively doting on Rosie, as she’s their only grandchild. Then they all go into the kitchen to work on dinner, leaving Rosie to play in the living room with her new toys. Sherlock’s cock is dragging tantalizingly against the soft fabric of his pants and they’ve ridden up in the back so fabric is rubbing against his hole with every move he makes. He’s so focused on trying to ignore the panties that he stops paying attention to the peeler in his hand. Sherlock’s sliced his finger and dropped the peeler before he can think twice, blurting out, “Damn it.”

“Swear jar!” Rosie chimes in from the living room. 

John is chuckling at her as he takes Sherlock’s hand in his. He tilts his finger to examine the cut and tsks at the blood, “What were you thinking?” His eyes dart to Sherlock’s and Sherlock catches his smirk. “I think this could probably use a few sutures. Come on,” he says. 

Mummy has come over to flutter around, but John soothes her as he wraps Sherlock’s finger in a tissue, “not to worry. I’ll have him patched up in a jif. Won’t be a moment.” Then Sherlock is being pulled along behind John up to their bedroom where he has his suture kit packed away. 

“Sorry, but John-“ Sherlock starts before he’s cut off by John pushing him back on the bed and crawling over him. John seals his lips over Sherlock’s as he pins his arms to the bed above his head and rolls his hips against Sherlock’s. Sherlock groans into John’s mouth and his cock comes to full hardness. 

John pulls back, “Fuck, Sherlock. You are so sexy.” He slides down Sherlock’s body and his fingers are fumbling over the button and zip of Sherlock’s trousers. “You have to be very quiet and this has to be very quick.” 

Sherlock has no words, fairly sure his brain hasn’t even caught up with the proceedings yet. 

When John’s opened his trousers, there a low growl in his throat as he looks at the panties barely containing Sherlock’s bulging erection. “I’m going to thoroughly appreciate these later,” John promises before sliding the front of them down far enough to free Sherlock’s cock. 

Sherlock clamps a hand over his own mouth as John swallows his cock, licking and sucking and clenching the head of his cock in his throat muscles. His mouth does all of Sherlock’s favorite things while his hand busies itself with sliding the fabric out of the way to massage at Sherlock's perineum. 

He groans in spite of his best efforts to contain himself and John hums around his cock, sucking up before sliding down again. John moves his hand and Sherlock lifts his head to watch as John slips his index finger into his mouth alongside Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock whimpers at the feeling of John’s tongue and finger caressing his flesh. He thinks for a moment that the tingling in the pit of his belly and the base of his spine will coalesce in a spectacular orgasm, but then John is sliding his finger back out of his mouth.

Sherlock whines piteously and is about to open his mouth to beg when John rubs his slick finger in a swirl around his hole before pressing in ever so slightly and Sherlock loses it, coming down John’s throat with a low groan. When Sherlock’s finished, John pulls off and rests his head on Sherlock’s hip for a moment. 

Sherlock blinks up at the ceiling, letting himself come down from the intensity of that orgasm, all crammed into the space of about 4 minutes. “I’d be embarrassed about how quick that was if I could think straight.”

John chuckles against his hip, “In all fairness, I’ve had seven years to perfect my blowjob skills and you were pretty keyed up to begin with.” John tucks him back inside his panties after placing a sweet kiss to the head of Sherlock’s cock. 

John zips him back into his trousers and reaches for the finger Sherlock had cut in the kitchen. 

“I thought you hadn’t even noticed,” Sherlock says, holding out his hand to John in supplication. 

John laughs, “Some of us have just had a lot more practice hiding our sexuality than others.” He’s making a joke, but it makes Sherlock’s stomach clench anyway to think of the time John spent hiding his love for Sherlock, hiding his attraction to men in general. John’s started cleaning out the cut with an alcohol wipe by the time Sherlock can find words.

“I’m sorry you went through all of that,” Sherlock says, thinking of John’s father, thinking of Harry, and John’s troubled teen years.

John looks up, they’ve had this conversation before, his eyes are soft and warm, “It’s all behind us now, my darling. Don’t let it bother you.”

Sherlock hums but doesn’t feel the cheer he’d felt a moment ago.

John finishes bandaging him up and Sherlock looks down at his finger in surprise, “I thought you said I’d need a suture.”

“I fibbed,” John says, leaning in to peck Sherlock’s lips. “I just wanted to get you alone for a few minutes.”

Sherlock laughs, delight at his husband returning a bit of warmth to the pit of his stomach, “What’ve I done to deserve you?”

John takes his hand and pulls him off the bed, “Well,” he starts as they leave the room, “You’ve jumped off a roof, dismantled an entire criminal network, shot a man at point blank, almost got yourself killed again-”

Sherlock tugs his hand and presses a kiss to his lips to stop the flow of words, “John Watson-Holmes,” he murmurs when he draws back, “You’ve saved me from so many things, myself not the least among them.”

“I love you,” John says, brushing his thumb along Sherlock’s cheekbone.

“I-“ Sherlock starts when his mother appears in the stairway.

“Oh, there the two of you are! Come on, supper’s just about ready.”

John turns and grins, “Coming, sorry! Just had to stop for a quick Christmas kiss.”

His mother laughs delightedly, “No need to apologize, dear.”

Sherlock thinks for the hundredth time since marrying John that he is the perfect son-in-law. John is everything his mother ever hoped Sherlock would find in a partner and that Sherlock never dreamed was possible.

————————————

Dinner was delicious, the company was good, Mycroft had arrived with Greg a few minutes after they’d sat down, both looking harried but happy. Sherlock couldn’t help but tease Mycroft about goldfish, even as John had elbowed him. After dinner, Rosie had opened more presents, from Greg and Mycroft this time. And John had sat close to Sherlock, his arm wrapped around his shoulder as he whispered sweet, soft words in his ear as everyone talked and laughed around the fire. 

Far past Rosie’s normal bedtime, John and Sherlock took Rosie to the room Sherlock’s parents had decorated just for her and kept ready for a visit at any time. They’d tucked her in, read a story, had kisses, and wished one another one more ‘Happy Christmas,’ before John had turned out the overhead light and left the Christmas lights twinkling at her around the window.

They’d gone back into the living room and were enjoying a glass spiked eggnog with the other adults, when Sherlock started to feel aroused again. As if sensing his libido starting to spike, John places a steadying hand on his thigh as he chats, telling stories about Rosie and reminiscing about their past. 

It seems like it’s been forever by the time Sherlock’s parents headed off to bed, leaving John, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Greg sitting in the living room companionably. “You’ll be staying tomorrow?” John asks.

“S’long as the government can survive that long,” Greg teases, bumping Mycroft with his shoulder. 

Mycroft sniffs, “How long are the three of you planning to stay?”

John shrugs casually, “Rosie loves it here. We’ll stay tomorrow at least for most of the day, might stay one more night.”

Greg clears his throat, “Listen, I’m beat. Think I’ll head off to bed, it’s been a long day.”

Mycroft flushes faintly as he says, “Yes, I’ll join you.”

It’s endearing, Sherlock thinks, that Mycroft is still so shy about going to bed with Greg. Then he shakes his head at himself, this is John’s influence, certainly. 

“Sleep well,” John says.

“Yes, do enjoy yourselves,” Sherlock adds with a smirk.

Greg laughs but Mycroft stops and looks Sherlock up and down before saying, “I could say the same to you.”

Sherlock grins, “Yes, you certainly may.”

“Oh for-“ Mycroft starts in apparent disgust.

“Alright, alright,” Greg says, taking Mycroft’s hand, “Good night, you two.”

“Night,” John calls.

He looks over at John, wondering if John is ready to go to bed, too, but John is just staring off into the fireplace, so Sherlock settles next to him on the sofa. John wraps an arm around him and Sherlock rests his head on the other man’s shoulder. 

Eventually, John breaks the silence, “I’ll never get over Christmas with your family,” he murmurs. 

“Hmm?” Sherlock asks.

“They’re lovely,” he says softly. “The teasing, the people all around, the way they love Rosie to bits. It’s nice, is all.”

“With you it is,” Sherlock relies. “And Greg,” he concedes. 

John presses a kiss to Sherlock’s temple, “Ready for bed?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Sherlock says, “I’ve been a very naughty boy this year.”

John laughs, “That you have, let’s see what we can do to remedy that.”

Sherlock all but jumps off the couch and takes the stairs two at a time to the second floor. John comes in behind him and locks the door, a shudder racks its way up Sherlock’s spine. 

“Let’s see,” John says licking his lower lip. 

He shudders and obliges him, stripping out of his trousers and shirt and standing before him in nothing but his tiny pants. 

“Lovely,” John murmurs, his eyes flitting appreciatively over Sherlock’s nearly nude form. “Turn.”

His cheeks heat, but he does as John’s instructed, putting his bottom on display. The room is silent for a moment, then John’s hands are on him, cupping his buttocks and massaging. 

“Have you been naughty or nice this year, Sherlock?” He asks in his ear before nibbling at the sensitive skin of Sherlock’s shoulder. 

“N-naughty,” Sherlock manages, shuddering as John’s hands slide around to grasp his hips through his pants.

“Well, I haven’t any coal, so what do you suggest I give you instead?” John asks. 

“A spanking?” Sherlock asks, his voice hoarse and soft, barely daring to hope that John might take him seriously.

John’s hands still and all teasing is gone from his voice when he asks, “would you like that, Sherlock?”

Sherlock nods once before asking, “Would you?”

He nods against his shoulder and Sherlock shudders at the thought. 

“Please,” he breathes.

His hips are drawn back hard against John so that his erection is pressing against Sherlock’s buttocks. He groans, “please, I’ve been awfully naughty this year.”

“You must be very quiet,” John instructs. 

“Yes,” he agrees. 

“On the bed, on your hands and knees.”

He shudders and does exactly as John asks, spreading his thighs shoulder width apart to maintain balance. 

He hears John moving behind him and braces himself, his body singing with anticipation, his cock hard and toes tingling. He jumps when John touches him, his hand’s just brushed across his skin.

“Alright?” John asks softly, even though he can’t think he’s possibly hurt Sherlock.

Sherlock exhales a nervous breath, and John says, “We don’t have to do this,” in that gentle, soothing way of his.

“No, I want to,” Sherlock says, his heart beating in his throat, “Truly.”

“You just seem a little jumpy, is all,” John says, massaging Sherlock’s right buttock with his left hand.

Sherlock shudders, “I want to,” he says firmly.

John’s hand draws back and he smacks Sherlock’s bottom, squarely hitting the portion of his arse that’s showing under the hem of his panties. 

He groans as he feels precome leak out of the tip of his cock, “Oh, John,” he moans.

The other man’s drawn back his hand and he spanks the other cheek, “Your arse,” John says, his voice dark and gravelly, impossibly sexy.

“John,” Sherlock groans as he lowers his chest and face to the mattress, already shaking too badly for his arms to hold him. He rubs his face against the pillows. “Harder. Please.”

John’s right hand rests on Sherlock’s sacrum and then he’s spanking Sherlock’s bottom in earnest, hard enough that Sherlock can feel the fat on his buttocks jiggling with every smack. His face and chest heat in embarrassment as he imagines what he looks like. His cock strains against his panties and Sherlock can feel his precome soaking through, he’s sure if he looked his panties would have a dark, wet spot on the front.

John pauses in his ministrations and Sherlock tries to catch his breath, his chest heaving likes he’s run a marathon. John hooks a finger under the fabric just behind Sherlock’s balls and rubs his knuckle against that sensitive strip of flesh. Sherlock lets out a whimper, feeling sensitive and hot everywhere.

“Alright?” John asks again.

“More,” Sherlock groans. 

John’s hand abandons the strip of flesh it had been teasing and then he’s grasping the top of Sherlock’s panties and yanking them down around his thighs. 

Sherlock cries out as his cock springs free of the fabric that had been confining it. “John,” he lets out, his voice strangled practically beyond recognition. 

He rubs his hand over Sherlock buttocks and there’s a faint prickling sort of pain, “Your bottom’s a lovely shade of pink,” John murmurs, his voice sounds like expensive chocolate tastes. Then John smacks his arse again, Sherlock’s hips buck reflexively and his cock slaps his belly with the motion. He groans as John brushes his fingers over where he’s just smacked. “I can see my handprint,” he murmurs. “Your skin is so fair.”

Before Sherlock can respond John’s spanked him again, the other cheek this time and Sherlock grunts. John continues to spank him, avoiding any spots that would hurt too much and focusing solely on the fleshy parts of Sherlock’s behind.

He’s lifted higher and higher, his toes curl against his feet and he spreads his legs further and further. Finally, he’s sure he can’t stand it any longer, the spanking has made him unbearably hard. “Shit,” he grunts when John slaps over the divide in his buttocks. “John,” he pants, “Oh, fuck.” He’s gasping for breath and fighting for control over his body. “John, fuck me. Fuck me, please. Oh, please.”

John groans, he grasps Sherlock’s hot, stinging buttocks in his palms and squeezes, massaging and spreading him. Sherlock cries out at the sting and at being held open for John to look his fill. He’s looked before, probably hundreds of times, but the intimacy of the gesture steals Sherlock’s breath away every time, just the same. 

His thumb brushes over Sherlock’s hole and for one moment Sherlock thinks he’s going to come just from John’s finger barely touching him. Then John leans in and nips at Sherlock’s bottom and the sting pulls him back a smidge from the edge. John licks one long, wet stripe between his buttocks, and it’s almost too much before John’s pulled away completely, leaving Sherlock feeling bereft. 

He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at where John was standing, he’s not there any more.

“Just grabbing lube,” John says in explanation.

Sherlock groans and nods.

“Not too loud, darling,” John hums at him. 

Sherlock takes a few deep, steadying breaths, calming himself or he’ll never make it. 

“That’s it,” John soothes and his lips are trailing along Sherlock’s shoulders. “Calm down a bit, I’m not even close to being through with you yet.” 

Sherlock shudders at the promise, “John,” he breathes. 

John trails his fingers down Sherlock’s spine, “Yes, love?”

Sherlock looks over his shoulder, “I love you.”

John leans in close and presses his lips briefly to Sherlock’s, “I love you, too.”

Then he’s pulling back and the bed shifts as John climbs on behind Sherlock. He hears the snick of the lube bottle being opened, then wet fingers are trailing along the crease of his buttocks. “Oh,” he breathes, like the way John’s touching him is a revelation. 

John’s wet fingers come back and rub slow circles around Sherlock’s hole, Sherlock’s jaw drops, every nerve ending lighting up with pleasure at John’s touch. His voice emits a garbled whimper and he spreads his legs wider, inviting John deeper. 

He obliges him and works in one finger, John strokes along the inner walls of Sherlock’s body, stretching him and studiously avoiding his prostate. Sherlock can feel his hole fluttering around John’s digit and relishes the stretch. “More,” he begs.

John presses a second finger inside of him, scissoring and twisting once he’s inside and Sherlock can feel his body relaxing and opening beneath John’s diligent fingers. John kisses Sherlock’s shoulders and spine, stroking his tongue along all of the knobs of each of his vertebrae. 

After a few more minutes of stretching, John pulls his fingers out and Sherlock can hear him squirting more lube on his fingers. “I’m ready,” he says. “Please.”

“Not yet, darling.” He presses three fingers in and Sherlock bears down, clenching and unclenching his muscles around John and relishing the slight burn. John groans and his fingers start to pump in and out of Sherlock’s body a bit quicker. They twist and spread, working him open.

The minutes John spends on this part are torment, Sherlock tries to breathe, wills his body to slow down, calm down, relax. Before he can help himself his mouth’s opening and he’s begging, “Please, John, please. Now. I need you,” he begs. “Please, I need you.”

John pulls his fingers out and he can hear the zip sliding down on John’s trousers, then hear the trousers and pants hit the floor, followed by his ugly jumper and shirt. John flops over onto his back beside Sherlock, “Pants off,” he instructs.

Sherlock hastens to obey, clumsily maneuvering out of his tiny panties. 

“Come on,” John says, tugging at Sherlock’s hand, “Come sit on my cock.”

Sherlock groans, heat racing from the pit of his belly to the furthest reaches of his being. He throws a leg over John and John reaches behind Sherlock to position his slicked cock at Sherlock’s entrance. 

He moans loudly as he sinks down on John’s cock, the stretch and burn of John’s hard cock opening him wider still is exquisite. “Oh,” he lets his head fall back even as his hands reach forward to steady themselves on John’s chest. He sinks slowly down on John, his body giving way to allow John inside of him, and the deep ache feels like relief. “Oh, John,” he whimpers, “It’s so good. You feel so good.”

“You feel perfect, darling,” John murmurs back. 

It feels like eternity, but eventually Sherlock manages to sink down and take John’s entire cock inside of him. “Feel good?” John murmurs, his hands sliding up and down Sherlock’s thighs.

Sherlock rests his bum against John’s hips and feels the faint sting from the spanking, “It feels exquisite,” Sherlock hisses.

He rocks his hips in minuscule thrusts, rolling them a bit to stretch just a little more around John’s stiff cock. 

“Mmh,” John hums, finger clenching in Sherlock’s thighs, “That’s nice.” 

Sherlock rolls his hips again, leaning forward slightly to angle John’s cock differently. 

“Ready?” John asks, one of his hands reaching up to brush Sherlock’s curls off his face.

Sherlock nods, sitting up once again and rising up on his knees, sliding back up John’s cock only to slide back down again. His own cock is standing proud, the tip a deep red, precome beading at his slit, foreskin fully retracted. It bobs as he moves and he aches to touch himself. 

John’s legs shift behind him, he’s planting his feet on the mattress as he grasps Sherlock’s hips and rocks his hips up as Sherlock slides back down. 

“Uhh,” Sherlock moans, “Oh yes. Harder, John.”

“Touch your nipples,” John prompts. 

Sherlock opens his eyes to look down at his husband, whose eyes are glued to him. John’s tongue slicks across his lower lip as Sherlock lets his hands move from their position balancing himself to his nipples. He gasps as he brushes his fingers over the sensitive flesh.

“Oh, yeah,” John groans, hips snapping up into Sherlock. 

Sherlock whimpers, his thighs straining to keep him balanced and to keep him bouncing on John’s prick. 

“Pinch them,” John encourages, his voice dark and raspy.

Sherlock obeys and his jaw drops with pleasure as he pinches at the puckered flesh, drawing his nipples into even tighter peaks. “Yes,” John groans, “Fuck, baby. Yes. Lick your fingers.”

Sherlock keeps his left hand on his nipple and looks down at John as he sensuously raises his right index and middle finger to his lips. 

“Yes,” John grunts, “Yes, Sherlock, fuck. Suck your fingers like you’d suck my cock.”

Sherlock groans, his eyes want to slip closed at the fantasy of sucking John’s cock, but he keeps his eyes open and peeled on John. John loves eye contact when Sherlock’s giving him a blow job. He slowly inserts his fingers into his mouth, taking them in all the way and hollowing his cheeks around them as he draws them out. He thrusts his fingers in and out of his mouth a few more times before opening his mouth and leaving just the tips of his fingers resting on his tongue. He flicks his tongue over the tips of his fingers and feels John twitch inside of him.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Touch your nipples again. Imagine it’s my mouth,” John instructs as Sherlock returns his fingers to his chest. “Mmh,” John sighs on a moan. “That’s it. Flick your nipple like I would with my tongue.” 

Sherlock groans, eyes drifting closed in pleasure. His thighs burn as he pumps himself harder, faster on John’s cock. “John,” he moans, he’s acutely aware of the feeling of his cock slapping against John’s belly when he bottoms out on his cock. 

“Are you going to come for me, darling?” John asks, voice rough and desperate. “Come on.”

John angles his hips differently and suddenly he’s dragging over Sherlock’s prostate.

“John,” Sherlock gasps. “Oh, John please. Please. Please,” he begs. “Fuck, I’m so close, right there. Fuck, right there. Don’t stop,” he gasps, his toes curl tight and one of his hands slides up to fist in his hair. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Right there, yes. Yes. John,” his heart is fluttering in his throat and heat has coiled tight in his belly. “Yes. Fuck. Shit. Yes,” he gasps. “Fuck, I’m coming,” he moans as his cock erupts, ejaculate shooting across John’s chest and stomach, a bit even splattering his chin.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John grunts and Sherlock can feel John tensing, his hips jerking harder and faster, drawing Sherlock’s orgasm out further before he’s coming too. 

Sherlock tries to keep moving on shaky, aching thighs but he’s not sure how successful he is. He collapses onto John’s chest after another moment and John’s arms automatically wrap around him, drawing him close as he presses kisses against every part of Sherlock’s face he can reach. 

“You’re exquisite,” John praises, “An absolute fucking marvel.” 

Sherlock lets out a shaky sigh, his chest is tight and he feels like weeping. 

“It’s alright,” John soothes, stroking a hand gently down Sherlock’s spine. “I’ve got you. It’s alright.”

His chest shudders and a few tears slip from his eyes, “John,” he whispers brokenly.

“I’ve got you, darling. I’m right here.” Then John is rolling them, inadvertently slipping out of Sherlock, but pinning his body to the bed beneath him, wrapping Sherlock in his arms and grounding him. John presses kisses all over Sherlock’s face, kissing his tear stained cheeks and wet eyelashes. “I’ve got you.”

Eventually the urge to cry passes and he loosens his grip on John’s shoulders.

“There we are,” John murmurs, reassuringly. “Alright, my love?”

Sherlock nods.

“A little intense, huh?” John asks sweetly. 

“It’s stupid,” Sherlock says with a huff. It happens more often than he cares to admit, him crying after sex. 

“It’s really not,” John says before pressing his lips to Sherlock’s. “I love you. And I love that you are still this in love with me after seven years.”

“John, I loved you before I knew you,” Sherlock says in exasperation. 

“Is that so?” John asks with a chuckle as he sits up and stretches.

“Yes.” Sherlock says easily. “I’ve loved you my whole life, I just didn’t always know it was you.”

John laughs, the sound bright and utterly perfect. ‘Well, I reckon I’ve loved you my whole life, too.”

“I imagine you have,” Sherlock replies with a smile.

“Happy Christmas, love.”

“Happy Christmas, John.”


End file.
